morituri te salutant
by White Silver and Mercury
Summary: A collection of Kuroshitsuji drabbles. / centered around the manga and, if any, the anime's first season; may often be Sebastian/Ciel, graphic, mature, and macabre.
1. stray intimations

_morituri te salutant._

**Disclaimers: I do not own _Kuroshitsuji_.**

**Ratings/Warnings: T, for graphic/gory innuendos. **

**A/N: The beginning of a collection of _Kuroshitsuji_ drabbles. **

* * *

And when no one was looking, Ciel talked to the cat. And when no one was looking, he finally noticed the cat was missing an eye.

* * *

_stray intimations._

* * *

"Sebastian—"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Is this a new cat?"

"...Yes, my lord."

"Where did you find it?"

"The other day, when we had lamb for dinner—I found him soliciting our back door for some food, so I gave him a piece of meat, and he's decided to stay."

"Ugh, well, of course he has—you fed him."

"Young master, don't pet him. Please, you're already congested enough as spring unfolds, I don't think you'd prefer to have more allergies—"

Ciel uttered a dainty sniff, reaching across the table in the garden to run his fingers through the fur of the new cat. What number was this, now? The fifth stray so far? And they all wandered about his garden like it was a zoo, and he was quite confident that Sebastian was not the only suspect in the mix. The gardener was far too easily distracted by little animals—he talked to the birds, he stood motionless for minutes upon minutes to see if butterflies would land on him, he forgot to water the flowers and trim the trees if there was a rabbit or a squirrel he could feed. And the maid was no better, being a woman and having a soft spot for cute things like that; and Tanaka was a man with a huge heart, as well. As it added up, it seemed that the cook was his only ally, but Ciel was sure Sebastian kept the cook far away from his strays.

Ciel propped his chin on his knuckles, free hand still threading through the fur at the top of the cat's skull, the place just between its ears. The cat sat comfortably on the edge of the table; it had jumped up as Sebastian poured the tea and settled down right there, like it had been invited. Its tail flicked off the edge of the table, and its eyes were hooded as Ciel's fingers stroked down its neck. Its fur was thick and long, framing its face like a lion—smoky gray with flecks of black here and there, a fluffy tail and silky ears. And it purred, so loudly. Ciel could feel the vibrations beneath his fingers.

"What did you name it?" he asked, leaning back in the iron-wrought garden chair and lifting his tea to his lips. The breeze was nice today, whispering through the trees and caressing the body. Not too warm and not too cold out, either. Perfect for tea in the garden.

"Gabriel," Sebastian murmured, and the dish in his hands clinked gently as he set it to the tabletop. Scones, with chips of chocolate and slivers of almonds. Ciel frowned, hooking his ankles were they swung above the cobbles of the garden patio.

"You didn't make any candied pecans?"

"No, young master. The pecans were nearly gone—"

"You should have gone to a different store, then." He huffed a gentle breath, licking tea from his lower lip and kindly swatting Sebastian's hands from around his plate. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. Gabriel, then, hnm?"

"Yes."

"Like the right-hand angel to God."

Sebastian chuckled, and when Ciel's gaze flickered up to examine his face, he found it curled in one of the butler's curious little smiles, intriguing and frightening and aggravating all at once. Secrets were worth nothing, after all. "Yes," Sebastian confirmed, and dabbed at the corner of Ciel's mouth with a napkin, brushing a few crumbs from his lips as the boy chewed.

The cat's tail flicked; its eyes fell completely shut and its fur shifted as the breeze slipped through it. In the silence of the afternoon, its purring was quite loud, and Ciel chewed thoughtfully as he relaxed into the chair, observing the cat on the table.

"He's made himself at home, it seems."

"He has."

"I suppose he does seem like a good pet. And I'm not really sneezing, since he's downwind."

Sebastian hummed in response, reached forth and ran his fingers through the cat's fur in turn. Ciel watched, taking another bite of the almond scone. It was so strange, how Sebastian's disposition—no, his entire being—changed when he was loving on a cat. It was humorous, almost; unsettling and confusing, too. Was he, a demidevil, really that easy to persuade—

Across the garden, the doors to the kitchen flew open, shattering the peaceful hush in the garden—and following it, just more grinding on the ears, was the cook's voice:

"Mr. Sebastian, Maylene needs you in the vestibule, sir—"

Sebastian sighed, pulling his hand from the cat's neck. Ciel watched him through his lashes, licking a crumb off his fingertip. Oh, God, there was the need to sneeze. Damn.

"Pardon me, young master," Sebastian edged out, and if Ciel wasn't mistaken, the butler sounded exasperated. He watched him from the corner of his eye, tailcoats shifting along his legs as he hurried to the kitchen door and disappeared inside with the cook, such a lovely butler with all his idiosyncrasies and intricacies. His presence made life so much more fun than it should be.

Somewhere, a bird chirped.

Ciel's eyes flickered over to the big gray cat napping on the edge of the table. He swallowed, took a sip of tea, propped his elbows on the tabletop and swung his legs. "It looks like it's just you and I," he sighed, disappointed. The cat flicked its tail. The breeze tossed hair from Ciel's eyes. He laughed, nursing another delicate sip.

"I know I must be quite scary," he murmured, and grinned on the edge of his teacup. "But really, I would never harm an animal. I promise. They're helpless, and I think that harming something or someone that doesn't even know what's going on, or can't fight back, is disgraceful and abhorrent." He frowned, tapping a nail on the edge of the china. "Well, under given circumstances, I suppose. When it's not justified. So—" He jabbed a finger out, setting the teacup down and cupping his cheek in his palm. "—don't do anything to me that might make me want to harm you. Do you understand, Gabriel?"

The cat's ear twitched.

"I know, I know." Ciel sighed, lacing his fingers beneath his chin. "I apologize for making you have to deal with the butler. He's probably more frightening than me. Animals have a way of seeing through lies, don't they? Sensing things humans can't..."

On the breeze came the soft lilt of a little song, probably the gardener down by the stables, cleaning the horses. Ciel shifted, glancing about the garden patio, wondering if he was still alone. He took another bite of the almond scone, reached out and stroked a knuckle along the cat's ear.

"Come, now," he murmured, licking his lips. "I've only seen your profile so far. Look over here, kitty. Gabriel..." He clicked his tongue a few times, pursed his lips and called for the cat's attention, rubbing two fingers together. The cat's head lifted a bit, and Ciel lit up, running his fingers through the whiskers of the cat's fluffy face.

The cat's eyes rolled open and its tail flicked another time; its paws shifted and its ears twitched, and it turned its head to face Ciel where he craned over the tabletop. Its tongue slid out, rough and pink, licking its nose and maw.

..._Oh._

Ciel's breath caught in his throat with a raspy little hitch, and he sat back heavily in his chair-practically threw himself there, almost knocked over his tea—and regarded the cat on the table in shock, sharp consternation. Heart pounding, skin prickling, eyes wide and lips pressed tight together as he felt the color drain from his face.

The cat licked its lips again, climbed up off its belly and sat down facing the boy, fluffy tail draping perfectly along its haunches. It purred, and Ciel couldn't bring himself to look away from the place the cat's right eye should have been, no matter how hard he tried. The eyeball had been gone for quite a long time, its place on the cat's face a sunken hole, gutted out and filled with fur where whatever wound had been there had healed. And somehow, Ciel hadn't noticed, because the cat had been sitting profile the whole time, sleeping. And somehow, it was discomfiting, and it made his stomach churn and his throat tighten. And—

And he could see it, he could see it in his head—Sebastian, somewhere, perhaps somewhere between the stables and the garden, where the forest liked to creep in on the edges of the estate. Sebastian, with his new stray, holding it as lovingly as he always did, petting and nuzzling and coddling, and then jabbing his thumb in the nook between the cat's eye and its nose, gouging out its right eye and severing the nerves and sinew with his long black nails. Perhaps—perhaps slurping the little eye down his throat like a delicacy, perhaps sucking the blood as it poured out and lapping it up off the cat's fur— But why, why would he, what kind of sick gesture was that, and _how_, and _no_, and—

"Young master, is everything alright?"

Ciel whipped around so fast it hurt his neck, eyes wide but only one focusing on the butler, a vicious, imploring desperation bleeding through the blue. "I-I—yes... Everything is—" He couldn't speak. His voice kept getting caught in the back of his throat, and Sebastian simply stood next to him, peering down in concern, brows risen and pretty face as innocent as could be. But there was a monster in there, a devil, and—

Sebastian glanced at the cat, then back to him, face blank but behind it, Ciel knew that Sebastian had deduced what had happened between the cat and the young master. He was smart enough. Ciel's hands trembled where they clutched the arms of the garden chair. He swallowed, brow knotting, unable to shake the sudden sick sensation of fear, of gore, of sadistic destruction and manipulation and fun, and Sebastian needed to stop _smiling_ at him like that, all of a sudden.

"Young master, did the cat frighten you?"

"_Sebastian_, the cat is missing an _eye_."

"You're complaining?"

"Sebastian—!"

Sebastian avoided the little hand that swung out to hit him with seemingly innocent ease, stepping to the side and out of range, gently taking the cat from the edge of the table and setting it down amongst the flowers. It stretched, before suddenly finding interest in a butterfly and leaping off through the bushes to chase it. And Ciel's lips were dry, and his heart fluttered beneath his throat, and he couldn't meet Sebastian's eyes, not while he was smiling like that, so he just gripped the edge of the table and wished he was digging his nails into Sebastian's skin, instead. Because, oh, the _bastard—_

"All the strays I pick up," Sebastian murmured, meeting Ciel's eyes from the side of the table, "I cherish in spite of what the world might see wrong with them."

Blood-clot eyes, cherry-wood or copper, staring with such weight in them—such indulgence, such depth, such subtle insinuation and promise. And that gleam in them, there because there was no smile on his mouth but there was in his eyes, and it was one of his indecipherable and intimate grins, and Ciel's cheeks flared as his fingertips touched the smooth surface of his eye patch and he turned his face away, glaring into the bushes where the cat had disappeared.

The underside of the little dish rattled against the table as Ciel pushed it forward, crumbs dancing on the edges of the plate. "How disgustingly romantic of you," he whispered, flicking his gaze over to meet Sebastian's once more, and this time Sebastian was, indeed, smiling again. Humble and sunny, warm and kind. The feet of the garden chair scraped against the cobbles as Ciel stood, and he let his shoulder bump into Sebastian's elbow as he brushed past, fingers twisting together.

"So sweet, I've lost my appetite," he announced, voice thin, and met Sebastian's eyes once more over his shoulder. Sebastian's smile darkened—not his obedient butler smile anymore, that aggravating act, but this time his real smile, incipient and curious. He nodded curtly, and Ciel did not shake his touch when his palm landed between his shoulders on their walk back to the manor.

**_stray intimations_, end.**


	2. pyrrhic victory

_****_

pyrrhic victory.

**Disclaimers: I do not own.**

**Ratings/Warnings: T+; slight to direct references of sexual situations/activities, abuse, and emotional games. **

**A/N: Merry Christmas in advance, everyone. Enjoy. **

* * *

All persecute or are persecuted, but fate persecutes all.

_pyrrhic victory._

* * *

To be pure, without sin, without prowess—to be untainted and perfect. Nubility. Innocence. Chastity. These things were not his own. He was well aware of the definitions and destructions of such, the incredible esteem with which they were held and the severe means taken to attain them—but these birth-given graces were no longer his.

* * *

_Once upon a time, there was an evil troll. He lived under a bridge and liked to eat little children. _

* * *

Black-tipped fingers, popping the custom buttons on his suitcoats and ripping all the seams of his inhibitions, worming in to finger his heart and stir his emotions in ways that even he, Ciel Phantomhive, was not equipped to defer.

And with decorous and melodramatic indifference, he'd take notice of Sebastian's hints and games throughout the day, breakfast to dinner, lessons to meetings, elevenses to a peaceful afternoon, because it was to be a cold day in hell before Ciel allowed the dog of a young man—a demidevil, really—to catch him off guard and put him in an awkward situation in front of guests or business prospects, or anyone else of the public for that matter.

Sometimes he wondered if it was possible for hell to experience winter.

* * *

_A little boy had to cross the bridge one day, and came across the troll. _

_The troll said, 'I'm gonna eat you, little boy.' _

_The little boy remained calm and promised, 'No, don't—I can give you something else to eat. Something sweet.' _

* * *

Dignity.

His dignity was something Ciel liked people to notice first, along with his elegance and obvious stature, his omniscience and his power. Because those things were of great import, and if the public made note of anything about the remaining Phantomhive nobility past the tragedy and peculiarity of their surviving name, he wanted it to be his _dignity_ that they remembered, that left the greatest impression on them.

But his dignity did not belong to him, either.

As soon as the heavy oak doors closed on the master bedroom, his dignity slipped from his grasp and he was just a little boy, masquerading as nobility, play-pretending and parading around in expensive clothes, relying on tools like innocence and instinct—or what was left thereof—just as he had when this exchange had first begun, this pyrrhic victory that repeated itself night after night, reviving memories and sensations that had, somewhere along the way, developed and changed and matured with everything else as he grew.

* * *

_The troll licked his lips and said, 'You look sweet enough.' _

_The little boy still remained calm: 'If I give you something else to eat and you like it more, you can't eat me. You have to let me pass.'_

_The troll took what was offered._

* * *

If Ciel wasn't in the mood, Sebastian was slow and meticulous about it, trailing fingers and easing sighs, radiating warmth and passion as if it were a scent, playing games until the head of the household could no longer cross his legs and ignore it. And yet if Ciel was feeling cooperative, Sebastian liked to pretend that he had more important matters to take care of, and as he'd shoot down all of Ciel's attempts at subtle insults and secret seductions, there'd be a smile at the corner of his lips that Ciel knew well by now.

It wasn't that the sex was dissatisfying; in fact, it was quite pleasurable after a point. But it was the idea of what it was that haunted the act, the exchange of power as Ciel sat on the edge of his bed and let black-tipped fingers peel layer after layer off of him until it was just a naked boy, ankles crossed and fingers splayed on velvet comforters, head held high but lashes lowered, because just as his clothes, his outer layers had been stripped away and folded for the night—his pretenses, his defenses, his lies.

The velvet felt good on bare skin, Ciel found—and so did the sheets, and the smooth, worn cotton of a butler's gloves, and then the prick of a nail and the swirl of knowledgeable fingertips. And Sebastian felt good, once he forgot about the symbolism of this _thing_ that they'd engaged in for the last two years, this moment of raw existence.

Spit-slick fingertips and flushed skin, brows drawn together with the dimples deep between them; neatly combed hair a damp, tousled mess as heads bobbed and tossed, hands ran through the locks they'd so precisely fixed just hours before. And when Sebastian climbed onto the bed, Ciel lifted away from him and pointed with a dainty sniff, and although this happened often, Sebastian _still_ forgot to undress himself, too.

Muscles quivering with the energy buzzing in impatience, waiting to be released—coils of pleasure and shivers of delight, exploding up from places where the touch was almost unbearable. Bucking hips, racing heart, puffs of breath into the shell of an ear and moans clambering at the back of a throat but kept restrained there, as a tiny body shuddered in premature maturity. Fingers, first, sometimes, and then Sebastian's sex, hard and hot and throbbing as careful fingers eased little hips down until Ciel's buttocks brushed his thighs and he was stiff and burning inside of him. The pain reminded him of what was at stake here, control hovering just out of his reach as the mattress shifted and the blankets rustled, and hips pendulumed down into his, and Sebastian took him like he'd taken him so many times before.

_It's different_, he'd said once, casting the butler a look of precious disdain, a look that was meant to be kind but had come about in reproach just to maintain his dignity. Sebastian had smiled his pretty smile and chuckled at that, and when nobody was looking, he'd smoothed hair out of Ciel's eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his temple. _It's different from _them.

_Them_. Such a simple word, and said with such deploring rancor and disgust.

When Sebastian took him, it amazed Ciel how, every time, he hit the same spot at the base of his tailbone, that spot Ciel had never known existed. A little bundle of nerves, a corner of intensity, and when Sebastian thrust hard enough, deep enough, hands beginning to hurt where they clutched his wrists, he never failed to touch that place, and usually it only took a few moments of that before Ciel made a mess.

His dignity—his control—

Catching his breath, lashes lowered on eyes heated, clouded, cognition blurred by the daze, a million different sensations spinning his head around on the comedown, chest rolling as his fingers curled in bedsheets and he tried to sit up on his elbows— His_ dignity, _his_ control_—

Those things were the viscous sticky mess that Sebastian licked off his fingers.

* * *

_'That was delicious,' the troll said once he was through. 'It was absolutely the sweetest thing I've ever had.' _

_The little boy smiled. 'I told you. Now, why don't you remember that the next time someone like me walks by and your stomach growls? Have a good day, Mr. Troll. Remember your promise—' _

* * *

A pyrrhic victory—a victory won with great sacrifice.

Innocence and instinct, two values Ciel had never before imagined would walk so intimately, hand-in-hand.

Ever since that day, he belonged to Sebastian just as Sebastian belonged to him; he offered up his soul and suffered the signature of the contract with chin held high and blood trickling off his chin, and in redemption and in payment and in unintentional exchange for control, he'd offered Sebastian what remained of his body, and in the dank, rotten chambers somewhere in the belly of London, surrounded by blood and death and extinguished candles, Sebastian had taken the second sacrifice with a smile. Tupped him on the stone, cradled him in his pretty arms, kissed him more lovingly than any Cloaked Man Ciel had ever encountered.

Safety, and trust, and control, and all it took was to sell his dignity away with his soul.

* * *

_The troll ate the child up and licked his lips. _

_'You should never have trusted me.'_

_

* * *

_

**end.**


End file.
